Do you ever read something you have written

Do you ever read something you have written and wondered, "When did I write this?" and "Who is Susan?" and "What is the statute of limitations in this state?"

The answers to those questions are: "About twelve beers ago," and "The newest addition to your harem of legal stalkers," and "Not short enough to get me out of this." This was bad.

Even worse was when I turned the page over and found the supplementary questions. Answers: 'No.', 'Never.', 'Not when I was conscious.', 'I thought you'd forgotten that.', 'FFS',

Questions were: 'do you know who ate my sandwich?', 'how often do you bathe?', 'did you have a good nights sleep?', 'you know I know you ate my sandwich', 'what's your favorite acr

onym for sandwich thief?' and 'do you slow for children playing?' My sarcasm was lost on him, but I was willing to play along a while longer. "What's that on your lip?" I asked.

He sneered, "Don't act like this mustache doesn't turn you on." He was still the immature narcissistic frat boy on the inside despite his tweed jacket. Now it was time for me

to take this twerp downtown. We sat on the bus, waiting for the stop. Mid-ride I challenged him to a duel. My plan was fierce & full of falafel. How dare he insult my facial hair!

As the bus lurched ahead, I reached into my dark overcoat and drew out my brand new electric razor. I quickly finished him off. "That was a close shave," I said smoothly.

But little did I know that an old man standing outside the Hoodoo Lounge had witnessed what had just transpired. Fortunately he was known as the local drunk so most likely

he had already seen everything in life and wouldn't report it. I sat next to him on the curb. "It's a bad ole world, ain't it, Pops?" He observed me. "Depends how you look at it!"